


cartoons and cereal

by yodsanklai



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 20:01:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15692394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yodsanklai/pseuds/yodsanklai
Summary: series of one shots that follow the story of the courier, the wasteland, and a certain rose of sharon cassidy. dark themes, usually written under the influence of marijuana.





	cartoons and cereal

The Courier was relieved to walk the familiar cracked asphalt of the Strip once again. After executing the last of the White Legs in a murderous hunt with Joshua Graham, the Courier figured his time was up in Zion, and left in the middle of the night after their victory.

He felt changed by his time in the valley, not only for the vicious atrocities he committed against the White Legs but also by the influence of Joshua Graham. He saw a lot of himself in the Burned Man, with their capability for cruelty and mass destruction, not to mention their tendency to use it. The Courier sometimes wondered if Joshua’s god would look upon him favorably. He doubted it, though.

After a 2 month journey, he had returned to the steel doors of the Lucky 38, available only to himself. He smiled, feeling the dirt and mud on his skin tighten with the motion. Approaching the elevator, he waved to Victor.

“Hey, Vic.” The Courier said.

“Well howdy!” Victor said, rapidly gesticulating with his weird tube arms. “I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you look a little worse for wear!”

“Yeah, yeah, could you, uh, take me to the suite?” He asked, groggily pointing up.

“Absolutely, partner!” Victor said energetically, opening up the elevator.

The Courier entered the elevator, feet heavy like lead. The doors hissed as they shut behind him. He chuckled as the elevator began to go up, gently tapping the screen next to the elevator buttons. There was more technology in this single space than he had been around the entirety of his stay in Zion. He missed it, to an extent.

The doors opened to his room, bringing an unstoppable grin to his face. I missed that fucking mattress so bad, the Courier thought to himself. He began undressing as he walked to the bathroom, the fatigue from the trip setting in with each step he took. He kicked his boots haphazardly across the floor, the soles of his feet coming into contact with the well preserved rug of the Pre-War casino. The texture switched from carpet to tile as he crossed into his renovated bathroom, peeking at himself in the mirror.

He had gotten quite a few new scars in Zion, not to mention a couple of tattoos from his hunts with the Dead Horses. He traced his fingers along the outside of his abs, a small black outline of a Yao Guai accompanied by a vicious scar from one's claws. Scars from bullet holes riddled his pectorals, matching the two in his face. The Courier shook his head, stepping away from the mirror and getting into the tiled shower.

He turned the hot water knob on, immediately getting hit by a hot jet of water. The Courier gasped, turning around and leaning against the wall behind him. The steamy water rolled off his back, releasing knots and tension wherever it went.

This is better than anal, the Courier thought, giggling at his own joke. He rubbed his shaved head up and down, short strands of hair feeling like velcro. The Courier looked down at his feet, dirt and blood embedded on his skin turning the water a dirty shade of brown. He sighed, lightly banging his head against the wall.

Suddenly, he tensed. He felt it. The feeling of eyes on him. He had cultivated that sense out of necessity, after being stalked by White Leg hit squads deep in the hills of Utah. Saved his hide more than once, and would do it once again right now, or so it would seem.

“Nice butt.” A high pitched voice said behind him.

He jumped, scrambling and slipping as his feet met the wet tile below him.

“What the fuck!” The Courier screamed, turning around covering his head with his forearms. He peeked through briefly, seeing familiar red hair.

Her eyes dropped momentarily, then shot back up to his face. Cass whistled, before walking over to the toilet and sitting down out of eyesight.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” The Courier yelled, face redder than the tile.

“I live here, dude.” Cass said. “Can you put some clothes on and talk to me? I miss you, shithead.”

The Courier sighed, turning off the hot water and shaking the water off of his head. He peeked out of the shower, garnering a wave from the cowgirl.

He stepped out, quickly grabbing a towel from a rack and tying it around his waist. Cass stood up, rushing over to him on the slick tile.

She hugged him tightly around the waist, lightly brushing his rib injuries. The Courier grunted, but raised his eyebrows in surprise. He lowered his head, smelling her hair and wrapping his arms around her. He missed this feeling, and she had too.

“I missed you too, Cass. Alot.” The Courier said softly. “But why are you in my house?”

Cass separated, chuckling and fixing her hair.

“Well, uh, I saw you always sent that robot here, so that last time you went away me and Arcade just followed him back here, so…” She trailed off, “Ta da?” She said, throwing her arms in the air without confidence.  
The Courier sighed, rubbing his face.

“You haven’t been drinking all my booze, have you? If you drank what I had in the freezer, I’m not gonna - “ he began, pointing a finger in Cass’s chest.

“Relax, relax.” Cass said, shrugging her shoulders and slapping the Courier across his stomach. “We’ve been taking good care of the place. Arcade has been getting groceries, we clean up, yada yada. What’s up with all the deathclaw hands, by the way? Feels like watching you suck yourself off every time I see one.”

“Shut up,” The Courier said, chuckling. “Where’s Arcade?”

“Oh, he’s asleep in the guest room. He just got back from the Old Mormon Fort.” she said.

“Oh, alright. Well, look, I’ll catch up with you guys tomorrow, but I’m probably just gonna go smoke a joint and pass out.” The Courier said, starting to walk off.

“Not so fast, tattoo’s.” Cass said, grabbing his arm. “I missed you. Alot. So we’re gonna go to your room that I totally havent been sleeping in, I’m gonna grab a lethal amount of booze, and you’re gonna tell me all about your exciting adventures guarding some hack caravan in Mormon town. Ok? Indulge me, please.” She begged, tightening her grip.

“Alright, alright. I’ll be waiting.” The Courier said, yanking his arm back.

He shuffled to the master bedroom, seeing Cass scurry off to the bar. Upon entering, he let out a large exhale. Flannel shirts and jeans all over the floor aside, the room reeked of whiskey, with empty bottles dotting the bed. He walked over to a footlocker in the corner, grabbing a pair of camo cargo pants to yank on. He dropped his towel and lazily buttoned on the pants.

Sufficiently clothed, the Courier sat on the corner of the bed, opening up the nightstand. He found his jar of weed significantly depleted, along with his joint papers and tobacco leaves. He chuckled to himself, grabbing a leaf and his jar. He felt his muscles relax as he began to break up the buds, the familiar process creating a state of zen. 

Cass walked in, armfuls of whiskey bottles. She sheepishly met eye contact with the Courier, seeing the disarray of the room.

“I was gonna clean it before you got back…” she said, walking over and sitting next to the Courier.

“Don’t worry about it, you’re getting kicked out to the couch anyways.” the Courier said, sprinkling weed into the tobacco leaf. 

“Fuck you.” She said, unscrewing a bottle in disdain. “So, how did the big bad mailman like his caravan trip?”

“It was good.” He said, licking the top of the tobacco leaf carefully.

“Really? Two months and all you got is that it was good?” Cass asked disdainfully.

The Courier was quiet for a moment, silently striking a match and puffing on the freshly rolled blunt. He let alittle bit of the smoke out, sucking it through his nose. He had been dry for about a month, up in Utah. He smiled as the familiar rush from the nicotine struck his head.

“Earth to Courier?” Cass said, waving her hand infront of his face. “The Courier that I know doesn’t get too high after one hit.”

“It wasn’t really good, to be honest.” the Courier said, taking another long drag off the blunt. 

“What happened?” she asked softly, sliding closer to him.

“A bunch of shit.” he said, staring straight ahead. “We were hit in Zion Canyon. Tribals, these fucking dirty animals called White Legs. Killed everyone but me. But that was like, two weeks in. Then, it really began.”

The Courier played with the smoke, occasionally blowing a ring or inhaling it through his nose. He pondered the last 3 or so months of his life, a blur of putting head on spikes and executing women and children. 

“I did a lot of shit, Cass.” The Courier said. “I’m not proud of any of it,”

He took another drag from the blunt, putting it out in the ashtray shortly after. He exhaled the smoke from his lungs, resting his head on his hands. Tears formed in his eyes, a brief drop falling from his eye to the floor.

Cass’ heart softened, never having seen the Courier like this before.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Cass said, wrapping her arms around his waist. “It’s okay, just…” she trailed off, not knowing what to say.  
He didn’t move, silently reflecting on all the damage he had done. The tribals he murdered were one thing, but the corruption of the Sorrows was another. The death of Follows-Chalk, especially. 

Cass climbed up onto the bed, crawling behind the Courier and draping her arms over his shoulders.

“How about you don’t kick me out onto the couch, and we just go to sleep and work things out in the morning?” she whispered into his ear, gently stroking his chest.

“Yeah, sure Cass.” the Courier said, gently grabbing her hand. He figured the longer he could procrastinate the confessions of his atrocities, the better. “Sounds good to me.”

He positioned himself and laid back, resting his head against a pillow and stretching his legs out. Cass couldn’t stop herself from grinning, and slid her arms around him tightly and rested her head against his chest. The Courier grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed, and draped it over the two before tightly wrapping an arm around Cass’ shoulder.

“Night, Cass.” The Courier said, reaching over to flick off the lamp.

“Goodnight.” Cass said, snuggling in close.


End file.
